


Vaguely Downwards

by Ninkasa



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-14
Updated: 2012-02-14
Packaged: 2017-10-31 03:44:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/339529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ninkasa/pseuds/Ninkasa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel and Meg have to kill time while waiting for the boys. Meg finds a book. . .</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vaguely Downwards

He wondered, briefly, if this wasn’t some kind of punishment for his transgressions.

Castiel didn’t really think this, of course, he’d had plenty of evidence of the fact that his Father didn’t care at all about what it was he did one way or another.

But then -- according to Dean -- Joshua had said that God had specifically brought him back, so apparently God did care to some extent.

Honestly, this was probably all Dean’s fault.

It had, after all, been his idea that they get Castiel to “demon sit” in the first place.

And he’d obediently done as he’d been asked -- because it was apparently impossible for him to say no when Dean asked for something -- and was now sitting in some motel in Denver, waiting to hear from Dean or Sam about where they were supposed to meet the brothers after their latest hunt.

They.

Castiel looked over his shoulder at the demon who was laying sprawled on her back, jean clad legs bent, one knee folded over the other with her foot swinging lazily back and forth as she turned the pages of a beat-up pulp novel she’d found beneath the bed she was laying on.

It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate the notion that Meg had suddenly had a change of heart and decided to side with Crowley.

Well. . .no, that wasn’t it. It wasn’t a change of heart. She’d told him point blank that “It’s not a change of heart. It’s survival.”

Because apparently, whoever won -- Michael or Lucifer-- the demons were doomed.

What he still wasn’t sure he understood was why it was that Crowley had felt that Meg needed to stay with the brothers. Which Sam and Dean had translated to mean “with Cas”, apparently. Something to do with needing someone to keep an eye on what she was up to and that "you're the only one who can control her, the only thing I've ever seen put the fear of God into her" -- that had been Dean, who had yelled and sworn and threatened Crowley with bodily injury when the Crowley had turned up on their doorstep with Meg in tow.

Castiel was starting to suspect that Crowley just couldn’t control her and had handed her over to someone he thought could.

Meg glanced over top of book and it suddenly occurred to Castiel that he might have been staring.

She lowered the book slightly, a small, playful smile appearing on her mouth. “Unless you intend to DO something, flyboy. Keep your eyes to yourself.”

Castiel would have sighed if he ever made a habit of it.

Instead, he went back to thumbing through John Winchester’s old journal -- something which for some reason Dean had packed in the bag of supplies he and Sam had left for them. Along with changes of clothing, shampoo, soap and a credit card -- which Dean had handed specifically to Castiel with the instructions of “In case you get bored, want to go see a movie, go out to eat or have an emergency where you need cash.” He’d snatched it back when Castiel had reached out to take it. “DO NOT let her have it.”

“OH. Listen to this.”

Castiel turned slowly to look at where Meg had suddenly pulled herself into sitting position and proceeded to read something about Crowley intimidating his plants into obedience.

At least Castiel thought that’s what it was. Honestly, it was hard to tell as Meg kept giggling and was for some reason reading in what Castiel thought was supposed to be a passable cockney accent.

“The plants were the most luxurious, verdant, and beautiful in London. Also the most terrified.”

Meg smiled at him -- what he thought was probably the first time she’d genuinely smiled since Carthage -- “Isn’t that great?”

“I suppose so,” Castiel said, after it became obvious she really expected a response. “I thought Crowley lived in New York.”

Meg frowned and looked up from where she was thumbing through the pages. “Different Crowley, I think.” She unfolded her legs and swung them around to the edge of the bed, swinging her feet in a manner that made Castiel think that she seemed not to know what to do with her legs. “Actually, I wonder which one came first.”

Castiel blinked at her.

“Come on, Clarence. I mean, if he picked up the name from the book. Or if it’s his real name and these guys --” she jabbed at the cover of the book -- “encountered him or heard his name somewhere.”

She hesitated. “I bet he did. I bet he met up with them somewhere. The similarities are weird.” She eyed him for a moment. “The angel is actually pretty familiar too. Oh! And get this. . .The angel and the demon are BFF.”

She flung her arms in the air as if this were some amazing coincidence -- which he supposed it was. 

He also supposed he shouldn’t have taken her with him to the local convenience store. She’d been making short work of the supply of crème cakes and six dollar bottles of wine they’d obtained.

Maybe they were starting to kick in.

She sobered up suddenly, tipping her head to the side and considered him for a moment. 

Castiel suddenly felt the intense desire to blink, but didn’t. Lest she sense his fear.

“Are they prophets?”

What?

“Who?”

She stabbed again at the names of the two men who had written the book. “The authors -- whatsit? -- Pratchett and Gaiman. Are they prophets.” She hesitated. “They’ve written other things. Should we be --”

“They’re not prophets,” Castiel cut her off quickly. “I know the name of every prophet who ever has or will exist. Neither of those,” he nodded towards the book “are on the list.”

He did wonder if they weren’t perhaps psychics who’d gotten their information confused.

He made a note to mention it to Dean when they met up next.

“Oh.”

After a moment, she went back to reading the book and he went back to thumbing through the journal.

Except he kept having to pause every ten minutes or so for her to read out some part of the narration she found particularly amusing. Usually in an unintelligible English accent over the sound of hysterical sniggering.

He wondered again if perhaps the alcohol wasn’t kicking in. Or if she was coming down with some disease. Maybe it was some sort of omen that he wasn’t aware of. Maybe something was adversely affecting demons in some way. 

In all of their previous interactions since she’d switched sides, she’d been downright hostile to all of them. He supposed he couldn’t really blame her. All three of them had tried to kill her in the past. One of them had actually succeeded in sending her back to Hell. 

He didn’t know exactly what it was she was supposed to be doing. She didn't seem to have any orders except to follow their orders.

He wondered if maybe Crowley hadn’t sent her to gain intel on them as much as Crowley had wanted them to keep an eye on her. 

Or her orders were something similar to what his had been during the debacle with Samhain. To do whatever it was she was told by the Winchesters. 

Either way she’d always kept her distance, not talking much except when she wanted to taunt or annoy him in some way. This was almost pleasant by comparison.

He almost considered calling Dean or Sam to see what they made of it.

She looked up from the book again.

“Okay. Listen to this.”

Castiel bit back the urge to sigh.

It occurred to him that maybe she was just lonely. He supposed prisoners would even try to talk to their jailers after so much time had passed. 

He turned in his chair to look at her.

“Alright. Now what?”


End file.
